


all I wanna do

by Elendraug



Category: Pineapple Express (2008)
Genre: Drabble, Drug Dealing, Hand Jobs, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Spoilers, gross canon ear injuries, very specific tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-10
Updated: 2008-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendraug/pseuds/Elendraug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone's a winner; sticks and stones and weed and bombs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all I wanna do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eonism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eonism/gifts).



Saul's grandma drove them from the diner to a hospital. How Red survived with so many bullets through him is a mystery, to be sure. All Dale can think of is how fucked his ear is, and all Saul can think of is how trashed his apartment is. Going home means dealing with reality, and neither of them feels capable of it right now.

Dale slides his credit card through to the motel clerk without caring about who knows his name, and neither of them give a rat's ass when they get a raised eyebrow for requesting a room with a single bed. They've survived gunshots, explosions, car accidents, and worse; getting glared at is _nothing_.

Saul immediately sinks onto the likely-nasty duvet and drags it and the blankets on top of himself, shoes and all. He hasn't slept well since leaning on Dale's chest after driving to nowhere, and he's desperate for rest.

Eager to wash the blood and filth off his face, if not eager to inspect the damage to his ear, Dale gets in the shitty and small shower stall, uses half the bottle of unfamiliar-smelling shampoo, and tries to scrub off the last two days. His ear is raw and ragged beneath his fingertips; he can't clean it without wincing. The bar of soap sticks irritatingly to its wet wax paper wrapper; Dale curses under his breath and peels it away.

His hair is wet and almost rubbery when he steps out of the bathroom, holding a pathetically small towel around his waist for lack of fresh clothing. Grinning endearingly, Saul looks up at him from a pile of tangled covers and waves a hand, vaguely reaching for him in the empty air. Too tired and too relieved to be alive to worry about it, Dale lets himself collapse onto the spot beside Saul, lazily kissing him on and around his mouth. His breath is terrible -- just like his own, he's sure -- but it doesn't stop them. Saul's hair is greasy to the touch, but it's still satisfying to thread it between his fingers. Nothing could convince him to stop.

Dale thrusts his hips against Saul for the second time in the past day, and the same chain of _yes_ escapes him, choked out heatedly into Saul's shirt, erection rubbing against the cotton of his pantleg. Saul gasps, then coughs, then coughs again, and grabs Dale's hand, hastily shoving down his waistband and pressing Dale's palm against himself. Dale grips him, strokes him and jerks him off, hand still smelling of cheapo soap. With Saul struggling for breath, Dale mouths at the sweat-slicked skin on the back of his neck, at the tense muscles there. When he tightens his hold and tugs a few more times, Saul comes with a groan, pulsing against Dale's fingers. His body goes slack almost instantly, chest heaving against the mattress.

It's funny, Dale thinks. Less than twenty-four hours ago he was supposed to be having dinner with Angie's parents, and now he's on a motel bed with Saul's dick in his hand. Life is a funny thing.

Lying flush together in the frantic heat, it doesn't take long for Dale to get himself off, teeth biting at Saul's undershirt sleeve. He curls an arm around him, palm pressed flat to his stomach, edging closer in a half-assed attempt to spoon. It's comfortable, it's quiet, and it's finally safe again.

When they wake up they'll deal with the world, but for now, there's solace in this.


End file.
